by Kay Lyons
“I’ve tried so hard to forgive you, Joe, but when you deny everything—”
“Because it isn’t true.” He wondered how his life had come to this. Hissed accusations, a prison record and secrets. How screwed up could things get? “Listen to me,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice low. He squatted down in front of her and pulled her hands from her face. “Mel, I didn’t do it,” he repeated, dipping his head to hold her gaze when she tried once more to look away. “There’s another explanation—I don’t know what, but there is. There has to be because I didn’t hurt her and I— I want you to know that—believe it.”
Joe released her and stood, managed to put four or five steps between him and Mel when he saw Mrs. H. hovering around the corner. One look revealed she’d heard every word. Every comment. And despite the redness of her eyes, she looked ready to pounce, a self-proclaimed guardian angel.
He wondered whom she guarded, whom she believed.
Then he called himself a fool for wondering at all.
* * *
HAL STARED ACROSS the desk to where Melissa sat. He’d been surprised to see her since she hadn’t come to the station in quite a while. Now his anger built because she was there and giving him orders.
“You heard me, Dad. Please, lay off Joe.”
He leaned back in his chair. “So the rumors are true? He’s still around?”
His daughter’s chin rose a notch. “You know he is. I-I spoke with him.”
Foul curses filled the air, but instead of being upset, Mel laughed.
“What?” he growled, not seeing the humor in his daughter being anywhere close to a murderer.
“I felt like saying the same thing when I saw him,” she murmured, still amused, “and I didn’t believe a thing he said until I heard Mom’s voice in my head telling me to watch my mouth and open my mind.”
“Mel, you didn’t say those things because you’re a better person than I am. And your mother—”
His daughter closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, stilling his comment.
“No, Dad, I’m not. I’m just tired. And I don’t want the responsibility of knowing you have it in for Joe because of me.”
“It’s not because of you.”
Blue eyes blinked at him, so like her mother’s. “Josie, then. Either way, does it really matter?”
“What did he say to you?”
Before his eyes Mel’s heart broke, her face, her expression, revealing a pain no mother should ever have to know. “He said he didn’t do it.”
“Bullsh—”
“And I believe him.”
Hal stalked away from his desk. “That son of a— What right does he have to be tormenting you about this now?”
“Exactly,” she said, her tone deceptively soft. The tone she used when she wanted to get someone thinking along her lines. The tone she’d learned from her mother. “He spent ten years in prison, Dad. And he still swears he didn’t do it. I didn’t believe him, but then once I calmed down and thought about it, I— Why would he bother lying now? It’s done. There’s no reason for him to deny it.”
“Maybe he wants you back.”
At that Melissa rose from the chair and walked toward him, put a hand on his arm. “He doesn’t want me back. Ten years is a long time to think about things. We were too young. Too stupid. Too everything,” she said. “We took things way too fast before we got to know one another. We both realize that, especially now.”
Hal drew Melissa into his arms and held her close. “I don’t like it that he’s here. I haven’t been able to track him, but I will. I’ll find him. I don’t want him around you.”
“He’d never hurt me.”
“He murdered Josie.”
“Dad…what if it was a mistake?”
“You can’t believe— It wasn’t, Mel. He’s doing this to get to you. That’s all.” Hal clenched his fists. “His dad’s here. Taylorsville is the only home he’s ever known. Maybe he’s trying to convince you because he thinks you’ll help him convince others.” Hal felt her sigh against his chest.
“Maybe. I guess that is a possibility. So many people despise him.”
With good reason. “Stay away from him, Mel. I want to know if he contacts you again.” He tilted her chin up. “I mean it. I’ll get a restraining order out today, and we’ll haul him in if he comes near you. I should’ve done it already. Joe Brody hurt us once, but he’s not going to do it again.”
Chapter 10
ASHLEY BROKE INTO her stash of coupons and ordered pizza for dinner with the excuse that in the time it would take for her to cook, she could finish putting the second coat of paint on the front parlor walls.
Once she opened the doors of her business the front parlor would be used as a general gathering area. It had a fireplace, plenty of room for several couches and chairs, a piano and a separate seating area for cards or games. Maybe even a small bookstore and gift shop.
She glanced at her watch and frowned. Joe hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone, and she told herself it didn’t matter.
He was her handyman. Nothing else. She didn’t want anything else from him. The goal she worked so hard for wasn’t hers alone. It was her son’s future, her husband’s dream.
Mac might be gone, but he wasn’t forgotten, nor would he ever be. He’d been a good husband, a good provider, a wonderful friend and he would’ve been a good father if he’d lived long enough. She wasn’t ready to move on. Was she?
But if not, why was she kissing Joe?
She’d spent the majority of the early afternoon avoiding Wilson’s knowing, smirking gaze. Just because he’d pointed out Joe’s much larger handprints spread across her ample rear end in bright Victorian-era yellow, well, that meant nothing.
She was such a liar.
The phone rang and broke through her tormented thoughts. Ashley waited and wondered if Wilson would get it, but when it rang twice more, she set down her trim brush and hurried to the portable she’d left lying across the top of the couch.
“Willow Wood.” She glanced outside and noted the big brown dog crossing the yard, head down in the rain. The poor thing was drenched.
“Ashley, it’s Bryan Booker.”
“Oh, hi. Is something wrong?” She pressed one finger to her ear while walking over to the radio to turn it down.
“I was just wondering if you’d given any more thought to joining the book discussion. It meets tonight and I thought I’d call with a personal invitation.”
The book club? She’d forgotten all about it. “Oh…well, thank you. I’ll see.”
“I could come pick you up. Maybe we could go somewhere to eat?”
A date? Ashley bit her lip and closed her eyes with a silent groan. Bryan was very handsome, seemingly nice. But was she ready for a date?
She’d done more with Joe and not been on a date.
“That’s— That sounds great,” she murmured with a wince, “but I don’t think so. If I come I’ll drive myself. You understand—just in case Max get’s cranky and I have to leave. I haven’t read the book, either, but I appreciate the invitation,” she added hurriedly. “It’s very kind of you to offer.”
“Well, I hope you can make it regardless. I’d like to see you, Ashley, and Max, of course.”
The fact he so readily included her son warmed her opinion of him. Made her feel guilty. Dr. Booker was a good guy. What would it hurt?
“You know, I’m almost finished painting and— An evening out does sound like fun. I’ll—I’ll see you there,” she added before she could back out.
“Great. Seven o’clock? Maybe I can win Max over and we can have dessert afterward or something?”
She’d always admired persistence. “Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll see you at seven. Bye.” Ashley pressed the button to end the call and looked up just in time to see Joe pass outside the doorway and head upstairs toward his room.
“I ordered pizza,” she called, nerves layering her tone and taking it to a higher pitch. “It’ll
be here soon.”
“Fine.”
Fine, huh? If it was fine, why had he growled at her?
And why did she feel guilty about a simple evening out with Max’s doctor and his friends in the book club?
Guilty because of Joe?
* * *
THE THOUGHT OF PIZZA brought Joe out of his room a little while later. Downstairs, he found Wilson asleep in his recliner with the television blaring, but no sign of Max or Ashley.
He poured himself a glass of tea from the fridge and carried it over to where the cardboard box sat on the table. He pulled out a chair and had just sat down when the television went silent.
“She went out.”
Joe didn’t respond—instead, he took a bite and chewed.
“Went to that singles club and took Max with her.”
What kind of mother took her kid to a—
None of his business.
“That young doc asked her out. I heard ’em talkin’ about it on the phone.”
Wilson shouldn’t be listening in on conversations.
As though reading his thoughts, the old man continued by saying, “Didn’t mean to. Thought Ashley hadn’t picked it up.”
Joe took a big drink of the tea before he remembered she didn’t sweeten it, and grimaced at the bitter taste.
“Doc’s a nice fellow. Suppose he’d be good to Max and Ashley. Wonder about his hoity-toity friends. Got quite a reputation with the ladies though.”
Joe glared at the foot of the recliner where Wilson’s feet were propped, unable to see the rest of the old man thanks to the wall separating the two rooms.
“Pretty much ain’t a man out there who wouldn’t think Ashley’s pretty. That’s not the problem.”
No, her looks would not be a problem.
“Guess if you want to lose your shot at a good life and a good woman, you can just sit there like a knot on a log and do nothin’.”
Joe shoved the chair backward and stalked over to stand in the doorway of the living room. “Spit it out, old man.”
“I changed my mind.”
Joe raised a brow in question.
“If you’re interested in the missy—and I’d say by the look of your hands on her behind today you are—that’s fine. Just don’t hurt her.”
Joe’s gaze narrowed. “Suddenly I’ve been approved?” He leaned against the door jamb. “What, are you afraid the doc will kick you out if they get married?”
Wilson shook a gnarled finger at him. “Don’t sass me, boy. And no, I ain’t afraid of that. The missy wouldn’t do that anyhow. I’m just wonderin’ how many chances a man like you might get if you ignore the God-given gift in front of you. I decided I won’t stand in your way is all—but you’d best hurry it up.”
* * *
ASHLEY COULDN’T HAVE BEEN more nervous. Her hands trembled as she unbuckled Max’s car seat and if she’d eaten one antacid on the way to the library, she’d eaten five. At least they were minty.
“You came. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
She turned to see Bryan Booker’s blond head and broad shoulders beside the open car door. “Yeah, um, hi.”
His expression was warm and filled with masculine appreciation. “Come on, let me give you a hand with Max.”
Grateful, she lifted the heavy diaper bag out of the front passenger seat. “Thanks. I’ll get him if you’ll take that.” She turned back to the car and hunched down to get Max out of his seat, hurriedly finishing off the belts and straps and lifting him in her arms. She straightened and banged her head.
“Ouch!” Her face burned. What a way to make an impression.
Suddenly Bryan’s hands were there, his fingers rubbing away the pain since her arms were full of her son.
“You okay?”
“Yes, fine,” she murmured, embarrassed. “It only hurt for a second,” she lied. The bump on her head throbbed.
Bryan lowered his hand to pat Max’s back. “Hi, buddy, how’re you?”
In response to Bryan’s attention, Max’s forehead dropped to her collarbone like a hammer on a nail. She flinched and Bryan winced with sympathy even as he chuckled in amusement.
“It’s a wonder you’re not black-and-blue.”
In that moment she gave in and smiled back. The only way to get through a night filled with one embarrassment after another was to maintain a sense of humor.
A woman walked by to go into the library and Ashley watched as the pale blonde drew Bryan’s attention. He flashed the woman a smile that made the other woman blush and Ashley stood there, arms loaded with a squirming, head-butting baby and a stomach that threatened to call it a day.
Was she really up to this?
Bryan put an arm around Ashley’s tense shoulders and drew her forward a step so he could shut her car door.
“Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Ashley followed Bryan’s lead and allowed him to prod her inside the library doors. The blonde had arrived ahead of them and now stood smiling shyly as she was greeted with cries of welcome and warmth. One woman came forward and pulled the blonde into her arms for a hug then led her to a chair while asking how she was feeling.
Ashley glanced away from the sight and looked up at Bryan instead, hoping for a clue to the situation. “Is she sick?” she asked quietly, careful not to be overheard.
Bryan’s expression was grim. “Her name is Melissa York, and yes, she is. She has cancer.”
“Oh.” Ashley pressed a kiss to Max’s head. “She’s so young.”
“Never know what’ll happen, do we?”
The women greatly outnumbered the men in the room and immediately noticed Bryan’s presence. Ashley wondered how much money they’d spent on teeth whitening treatments, since their smiles—bright and showing blatant interest—nearly blinded them…until they saw her. Some of the smiles fell, some of the women’s gazes took on a predatory gleam and some just narrowed in what-does-she-have-that-I-don’t glares.
In that moment Ashley wanted to run away, go back to her car and drive home and spend the evening working with Joe.
Then she glimpsed Melissa York and she realized she had to stay. If she didn’t, she’d only waste precious time.
She’d decided to stay in Taylorsville, to establish roots for Max and herself, settle into a home and community.
This was a way to go about it.
Like it or not.
Several hours later Ashley carried her sleeping son inside the house and upstairs to his room. In short order she’d given him a bath to take care of any dirt and germs he might have picked up crawling on the library floor, changed his diaper and dressed him in lightweight pajamas.
Now she stared down at him, watching his eyes flutter and eventually close, the way his chubby arms and legs twitched as he settled into sleep.
Ashley leaned against the railing of his crib and simply stared at him. He reminded her so much of Mac. The shape of his face, his expressions. His temperament. Like father, like son, she mused with a sad smile. So full of energy and always moving while awake, out like a light when they finally exhausted themselves.
She reached out to smooth her fingertips over Max’s forehead, but stilled when her eyes fastened on the silver band gleaming beneath the nearby nightlight. Heart thumping, Ashley straightened her fingers, eyes flooding with a sudden rush of tears.
How quickly things changed.
Shakily, Ashley moved the two steps it took to get to the rocking chair beside Max’s crib and sank down onto the cushion, her legs no longer able to support her. The ring warmed beneath her touch and she held her hand to her heart, rocking for a long while, eyes closed. One by one the memories came to her, happy, sad. All of them special.
With every to and fro movement of the rocking chair, she remembered, smiled. Laughed softly at all she and Mac had shared. Burned pizza and card games, a scrawny Christmas tree only half lit because the lights went out on the bottom, a few rare nights out on the town hand in
hand, walking, window shopping, too poor to buy anything but dreaming big dreams all the same, a soldier and a waitress against the world but totally in love.
Ashley lifted her lashes, her gaze locking on her son. Their son. “He’s so much like you, Mac. So much like you.” Her vision blurred with tears. “But…”
It wasn’t right that she kissed Joe. That she was so attracted to him. That she’d gone to meet up with Bryan at the library.
Not while wearing your ring.
Sniffling, Ashley raised her hand to her mouth and kissed the band before slowly easing it off her finger. Staring down at it, she remembered how the weight of it had felt the very first time Mac had slid it on, warm from his nervous, trembling touch.
“Thank you,” she whispered, lifting it to her lips again. “For love…for Max. For being my hero when I needed you so badly.”
She sat there a long while, rocking, crying and thinking, until finally, the tears slowed. The pain lessened. Ashley stood and carried the ring to the dresser lining the opposite wall, to the triangular keepsake box displayed on top. She placed the ring with the flag that had topped Mac’s casket. Next to the medals he’d earned serving his country. Beneath the picture of him in his uniform and another of the two of them together, smiling for the camera.
“I’ll never forget, Mac,” she murmured, her left hand smoothing over the carefully stitched flag. “Or let Max grow up without knowing you.” She inhaled deeply, tears forming again because it was so very hard to say the words aloud even though she knew they were long in coming, knew she couldn’t deny the truth any longer.
“But it’s time,” she whispered finally. Staring into her husband’s eyes, she pressed a kiss to her finger and traced it over his handsome face beside her own in the photograph. “It’s time…”
* * *
JOSIE WAS CRYING. Joe walked into the nursery and searched for her in the crib but she wasn’t there. Her cries rose in volume and he became frantic. Where was she? He turned, searched. Her cries grew louder and louder.
Josie!
